“Alas, alas, we no longer possess it!” echoed the priests, mechanically, indifferently, while they led the way back through the tunnel; and their words blew away in the strange, mysterious draught, because of the invisible ghosts that hovered.
But, when they were outside, the priests kept their torches alight; and they led the travellers to the small, black pyramid. They pushed open the stone door; and the old priest went in first. There was a long tunnel, followed by a room with smooth, black, polished walls, in which the torches and the shadows of the travellers and priests themselves were reflected curiously.
“The pyramid of Cleopatra,” whispered Caleb to Thrasyllus.
“The pyramid of Doricha,” Thrasyllus corrected him, with a smile.
But the old priest shook his head gently and, in a low and fond voice, said:
“The pyramid of Rhodopis. She lived at Naucratis and was incomparably beautiful and chaste. One day, when she was bathing, an eagle flew through the open ceiling of the bathroom and plucked from her maid’s hands the sandal which she was just about to lace on her mistress’ foot.”
Lucius suddenly turned very pale. But the priest continued:
“The eagle flew to Memphis, where the king was administering justice in one of the courts of the palace; and, flying above the king, the eagle dropped the sandal, so that it fell into the folds of the king’s garment. The king was much surprised; and he examined the sandal, which was as small as a child’s and yet was the sandal of a woman. And he bade his servants search all Egypt to find the woman whom so small a sandal would fit. His servants then found Rhodopis at Naucratis and carried her to the king and he married her; and, when she died, after a few months’ happiness, the disconsolate king dedicated to her the black pyramid ... which is the costliest of all the pyramids.... Rhodopis’ scented mummy vanished; her sarcophagus vanished. But the sandal, which the king ever worshipped, was preserved by a miracle. Behold it.”
And the priests, with their torches, lighted in the middle of the jet-black room a crystal shrine, standing on a black-porphyry table. And in the crystal shrine lay a little sandal, like a child’s and yet a woman’s, a little red-leather sandal with gold ornaments, arabesques that glittered incredibly fresh.
“The sandal kept for tourists,” murmured Uncle Catullus, with a sceptical smile. “We shall pay for it presently, Caleb, just as we did for the little Apis.”